On the Equinox
by Rider of the Whales
Summary: The gods are dead. The dead are alive. Vio just wants to live through this mess.


_A window  
_ _An open tomb_  
 _The sun crawls across your bedroom_  
 _A halo_  
 _A waning moon_  
 _Your last breath moving through you_  
 _as everything, everything ends_

 _-Death Cab for Cutie, Meet Me on the Equinox_

Many days are the same.

He rises before the sun- the hours just before dawn are often most dangerous, and he must be on his guard. He sends Rey down to ghost above the multiple rings of tripwire surrounding his fort, high in the sturdiest goddesswood for miles around. The tripwires are connected to metal cans full of stones; if anything crosses them within five hundred feet, he willl know.

Some mornings he will spend some of his precious kerosene to heat water for a pot of tea, and while away the hours till the dawn with a steaming mug in his hands as he watches Rey scan the forest below. Kerosene is hard to carry this far up the ridge, however, and so many mornings he makes do with only the thin rounds of unleavened bread and berry jam that are his default breakfast.

Many mornings, he does not have to reach for the massive, heavy-stringed bow that rests always within arms reach until the sun's rays touch the horizon, gilding the ever-present clouds to the west, where the desert lays. He is free to descend to the forest floor at his leisure, where he can spend the daylight hours in various ways- scavenging, hunting, guarding the borders of his territory, eliminating anything that manages to slip through.

Many evenings, he returns to his tree fort, scales the rough wooden pegs as he has done countless times before with Rey swirling up behind him, either drops the rope ladder so he can carry whatever bounty up or checks that it is secured tightly, where no chance wind can send it tumbling to the loam below. Then he lights a candle- an easily renewable resource, from the fat rendered from animals he catches- and sups on meat, dried or fresh depending on his luck in the hunt, whatever greens he has gleaned from the surroundings, and- if it has not been too long since his last trip upriver- butter for his bread, sugar for his tea, even a few precious squares of chocolate once or twice a year.

Then he cups Rey between his palms, and she shares her knowledge with him. The ground over which she has flown over the day, where some herbage for his poultices or his stomach may lie, animals she has seen, and intruders she has repulsed. As he holds her, his wild elemental, not quite a pet and not quite a friend, the palms of his hands glow with rich, green light.

Some nights she whispers _::danger::_ and he sits at the door to his hut, bow in hand, arrow nocked but string loose, until she whispers _::safe::_ and curls around him, a wisp of hot air and green sparks, sometimes mimicking the animals of the forest, sometimes hovering over his shoulder, coalesced into a shimmering sphere of light.

Some nights, she is bright enough to read by, and he does so until fatigue demands he close his eyes.

But this day is different.

This afternoon, Rey ghosts around him, a whisper-thin song of _::intruder, intruder, intruder::_

wriggling through his mind until he turns, alert and alarmed, hand already grasping for the stave of his bow. "Where?" he asks, and gets a confusing impression of _::north, south, river, forest, hot rock, blood, teeth::_ in reply. "Forgive me, let me clarify. Moaners or live ones?"

 _::both::_ she whispers. _::live, river, south, hot rock, blood, hurry!::_

He hurries. Everyone native to this part of the land knows that the five-mile stretch between Sunstop Ridge and the river was his. If there was a passer-through stupid enough to think he could claim it, well.

Many had tried.

Few had walked away under their own power.

As he runs through the trees Rey bends back branches that would strike him in the face, cushions his steps until they are near-inaudible; he passes within five feet of a doe, who glances up at him before returning to her feed, and fetches up against the sloped, rocky banks of the Great River.

Rey had not lied to him— he doubts she has the capacity to. There is a man sitting on a wide, flat rock near the slow-eddying waters of the shore. He carries a tattered pack and wears a ridiculous-looking wide-brimmed hat, and his pants and boots are covered in mud and stains. He looks weary, not murderous, but these days one can be both, and Vio has lived in this harsh land for far too long to let his caution down.

He waits at the treeline for five minutes, then ten. No one else approaches. The man does not move, except to fetch out what looks like a whetstone from his pack and start sharpening a dagger from his belt. One leg of his pants is ripped off at the knee. A wide, bloody bandage covers a good handspan of flesh. The man winces every time he has to shift the leg.

 _::hot rock::_ says Rey intently. He agrees- it must be uncomfortable in the harsh sunlight; it's approaching Solstice and the sun's weight is tangible. The shade of the trees is both a relief and a danger all at once; moaners cannot bear the sunlight. The man is wise for staying so far away from any cover, though very, very stupid for stopping on Vio's land.

He steps out of the trees, arrow nocked but not drawn, and kicks a stone down the bank. It is a natural enough noise that it should not draw any untoward attention from deeper in the woods, but the man on the rock looks up immediately.

Vio registers that he is young, that his eyes are as green as the leaves on the trees, and that he is covered in trail dust, before the man makes a startled noise and sets his knife down.

"Ah," he says, then falls silent. Vio lets the silence grow; it is one of his favorite weapons. Many an intruder has broken down under his icy gaze and let slip information they did not mean to tell.

But this man says nothing, only watches Vio under the heavy weight of the sun.

After another minute or two, Vio says "Place any weapons you have onto the rock." His voice is rougher, more hoarse than he expected, and he has to think back for a moment for the last time he spoke more than a word or three aloud- it must be two, three weeks past, the last time he made the journey upriver to the trading post, to barter his poultices and spare furs for fletching for his arrows, bait for his fish hooks, and, perhaps most importantly, extra kerosene for his reading lamp.

The man holds his position long enough for Vio to shift his stance from idle waiting to active hostility, the razor-sharp arrowhead rising three inches to point at flesh instead of rock, then makes a face and shoves his dagger further across the rock. Another dagger follows it, as does what looks to be a short sword that he lifts from where he hid it behind his body. "That's all of them," says the man, his voice just as raspy as Vio's. "Rest of my stuff is clothes and food, and a few trinkets. If you want them, you can have them, just let me go."

"I am not here for your belongings," says Vio. He nods a fraction of an inch and Rey swirls past him, hovering over the man's face for a bare instant before flashing over his packs.

 _::truth::_ she says when she returns, and, a little more insistent, _::blood, hot rock::_

"I suppose you just wanted to hold me at weaponpoint while you gazed into my eyes?" says the man, and has the audacity to smile at him. "Armed robbery _is_ all the craze these days."

He is not wrong on that count.

"You should not have stopped here," Vio says instead, ignoring the banter. "This is my land and I do not allow squatters. You have until the sun is two handspans above the treetops before I fill you with arrows and fillet you for moaner bait."

"Just passin' through," the man is quick to reassure. Too quick, for Vio's liking. "Had a spot of trouble last night, and lost most of my stuff. I heard there was a tradepost out here, I was trying to head for that. Just had to rest my leg for a few."

"The tradepost is a mile and a half upriver from here. If you mean to make it before sundown, you will have to leave soon."

"Fill me with arrows, huh?" says the man, seemingly at random. He squints at Vio's face from underneath his ridiculous hat. "That means...you're the crazy bow-wielding botanist that's staked the claim from here to the pass?"

"The...what?" Vio looks down at his bow, then back at the man.

"I gotta admit," he continues, seeming to gain enthusiasm. "I thought you were just a legend. Rumor has it you once baited and trapped a moaner, drugged it into oblivion, bound, gagged, and put a leash on it, then paraded it down Kakariko's main boulevard and shoved it into the tavern there? You've got everyone for twenty miles around running scared of this stretch of land."

Most of this, Vio has never heard before. Who on Terra would have spun such a tale?! "I did not _parade_ it," he says, indignant. "I snuck it in through the palisades in the dead of night and unleashed it inside the foyer of a man who had done me a great wrong. He had thought to take over my territory. I left him a message as to why that would not be a good idea." The man had been the worst kind of poacher, and had tried to trap Rey away from him. Vio only wished he could have been there to see the man's face when the moaner sucked his soul out.

"Damn," the man on the rock laughs, a short, hoarse bark of genuine amusement. Laughter is few and far between these days. "I can't believe it. No wonder you have everyone terrified to step foot into your woods." His voice is awed; he sounds younger than he looks. Perhaps the grime and the day-old scruff contribute to that. "Look, if you're gonna kill me, can I at least tell you my name first?"

"I am _not_ going to kill you," Vio says, exasperated. "I just want you to _leave_. But if it gets you off my land faster, by all means, speak away."

He laughs again. "I can't imagine why everyone is afraid of you, with a personality like that. It's Green. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but you have an arrow pointed straight at my crotch, and I'm afraid if I say anything else your finger'll slip—"

Rey says _::hot rock, blood!::_ loud enough that he jumps.

He's missed something, he realizes in a white-hot flash of apprehension. The bandage. The grime. The stains. The hoarseness in the stranger's voice.

The blood on the hot rock, wafting its savory scent into the forest. A scent which moaners from miles around would follow.

He shoves the arrow back into its quiver and his bow onto his back. "Get your leg in the water, now," he snaps, striding forward quick enough that Green flinches, hands raising to cover his face before Vio kneels and uncaps the canteen of water at his belt, rinsing the blood from the rock. It trickles away in pale red droplets. Vio can only hope he has done so in time.

Green still hasn't moved. Vio makes a noise of frustration and bends over the bandaged leg, cutting through the wraps with little fanfare. The bloody evidence lays before him- a ragged semicircle of puncture wounds, bleeding freely from the lowest mark. The flesh between is taut and red with a developing infection. "You were bitten by a moaner. You were going to the tradepost for the fool's cure," he says, the words like a blunt knife. He sluices the rest of his water over the wound. It must have made walking painful beyond measure."That, or for someone to give you a clean death that you could not give yourself."

Green finally reacts, if only to raise a hand and push the canteen away. "If you're gonna kill me, don't waste your potable water on me," he says shortly. "Yeah, you're right. I'm almost there, I should make it well before sundown."

"Not since you've been bleeding like a stuck pig on a hot rock," Vio snaps. "You may have drawn every moaner within two miles towards this area. I am going to have to spend weeks eradicating them-"

 _::teeth::_ says Rey, almost chiding. Vio stops, sighs. "You know why they call it the fool's cure?"

"Yeah," says Green with a grimace. "Because nine times out of ten, you're a fool to take it. And the tenth time, you're double a fool for living through it. But...I don't want to die yet. If this is my only chance, I'm gonna take it." He sounds sincere.

Beneath the wound, the leg is strong. His hands are wide and calloused. He looks used to hard work.

He makes jokes staring into the face of death. He smiles and laughs in the middle of the wasteland of the dead gods.

And...it has been so long since Vio has had someone other than Rey to talk to.

Vio could use him.

 _::yes::_ says Rey. _::yes good::_

He opens his mouth.

 _::dead!::_ says Rey.

He turns.

Praise be to the dead gods, for whatever its worth; there is only one. A new-made one, from the uncoordinated shambling, the blind, grasping flex of its hands. Perhaps female, before it had died and been raised, for its hair, not yet falling out, hangs down past its bony shoulders. Flecks of paint— or no, perhaps it was blood— adorn its ragged, chipped nails, not yet hardened to their full strength.

New and stupid, then, to wander so close to the treeline before the sun had set. If they could handle this one, they may yet survive to see sundown.

He has options; he could send Rey after it, though he is loath to pit her against something that could cause her serious harm. He could use one of his razor-headed arrows to send it to its first death, then shove it into the river to wash ashore far downstream of him. He could take Green's dagger and sneak up on it, spiking it through one eye socket, though that would leave him close enough for retaliation, and if he failed the moaner's cries would surely draw more of its kind.

Or he could run.

Green is still as stone beneath his hand. His leg would never bear up under the pace it would take to get to Vio's tree.

 _::take::_ whispers Rey. _::i take::_

Vio looks at her, brow furrowing.

In all his years with her at his side, she has been loath to show herself to others, much less offer to _carry_ them— and never before has he heard her use pronouns. She is much more sentient than any wisp of wild magic he has met before, but even so, she is a limited creature.

Perhaps, though, not as limited as he thought.

Beneath his hand, he feels Green tremble.

What courage, he spends a moment to think, to place his life, unflinching, into the hands of a stranger who had threatened to dismember him mere minutes before.

He nods to Rey. She darts over in a flash, sparks flowing up Green's limbs, cradling him, lifting him bare inches above the ground. Green has the presence of mind to retrieve his dagger as silently as he can, eyes wide and pained. He opens his mouth, perhaps to ask something. Vio makes a vicious negative motion, and he closes it again, nodding.

Smart, then, and listens to orders well. There is a flush in his cheeks that looks worrying.

The moaner shuffles past them, through the trees, and disappears. Vio waits five minutes, then ten, holding his breath, straining his senses towards the treeline. He can sense no one else.

 _::time::_ says Rey, and jets forward. Vio follows, bounding over flat rock and loose pebbles and forest loam alike. The trip back is fraught with nerves; always, Rey ghosts ahead of him, leaving him to fend for himself when it comes to the branches she normally moves for him. One slaps him in the face when he is not quick enough to move it aside, drawing a thin line of blood and a hiss of pain.

Always uphill they range, and Vio does not relax until they have crossed the third undisturbed line of tripwires, deep within the goddesswood grove. After that it is but minutes until they circle the base of Vio's tree. Rey gently lowers Green to the ground, swirling up the pegs to check that no one has trespassed, as usual. When she returns she lifts Green again, cradling him gently as a babe in arms, and follows Vio up the pegs.

Sometime in the journey he's fallen unconscious, breathing harsh and bubbly in his chest. His leg is even more inflamed, dark ooze seeping from the bite wound.

Vio spares him but a glance before he holds his hands out for Rey. She settles in them, radiating an uncharacteristic smugness. "Yes, you have done well, carrying him so far and so smoothly," he agrees, fond as ever. "Do you have enough strength to help me once more for the night?"

 _::yes, good::_ she says, and _thrums_ in his palms.

So he gets out his mortar and pestle while the light is still good, sending Rey for handfuls of ingredients from all over his stores; kokiri-root and water lily, some of his rare desert flowers, purified springwater, grave lichen. He stirs, and Rey flickers over the mixture, and Vio's hands glow green as he works.

When he finishes it is night. The stars glitter above, cold white pinpoints in the void. He feels exhausted, as if he ran twenty miles uphill instead of two, but the poultice in the stone mortar glows faintly, as all his best do. Rey floats over with a long, wide goddesswood leaf; he spreads the poultice over it, then ties it onto Green's leg, on top of the wound. "That is the best we can do, is it not?" he says to Rey, and she swirls around his hands, warm and whisper-soft, and says _::yes, good::_

Green finally stirs when dawn limns the leaves outside his fort in soft gold light. By the time he opens his eyes Vio is halfway across the room with a cup of tea in his hands. "You wake," he says, surprisingly relieved. "I had thought it would be much longer before you did."

"Why does my mouth taste like something died in it," Green croaks, "and why am I still alive?" He tries to shove himself upwards, but Vio lays a hand flat on his chest and pushes him down again.

"Do not move," he chides, "or you will undo all my hard work.I have poulticed and bandaged your leg; you may yet survive with all limbs intact." He waits until Green subsides with a grumble, then sets the tea on the floor beside him. "I will need to reapply the poultice near sundown for the next five days. The fool's cure is rather less foolish when _I_ am the one administering it, rather than those ham-handed shamworkers near the tradepost. After that you should be well enough to walk again, though not for very long or very far. We will need to make sure the moaner ichor has worked its way out of your system before you begin any taxing work. Is that acceptable?"

Green makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "How could it not be? I'm _alive._ You saved me. Why? You were about to shoot me then and there on that rock."

"Because you laughed," says Vio simply. "You smiled at a man who was perfectly willing to shoot you in cold blood. And it has been a very long time since I have been around someone who smiles so easily." He gets up then, feeling as if he has said more than he wished to, and walks to the nearest window. "Once you are healed, you may leave if you wish. I will supply you with food and fresh water enough to make it to the tradepost, at the very least. Someone will be able to provide you with maps there, for wherever you wish to go."

There is silence behind him. Vio leans against the windowsill and stares down the ridge. In the distance, the river glitters, a long silvery line wending its way from and to places unknown.

"It looks like you have a pretty nice setup here," says Green finally, his voice soft. "But your roof's not thatched tight. You should really have shutters for your windows instead of— what are those, fur curtains?"

His voice grows softer. "I could fix those for you, if you let me stay."

Vio exhales a breath he had not realized he was holding, and turns to face him. "Then," he says, and surprises himself by smiling, "let us talk."


End file.
